


Tape

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Human Birdperson, Human Squanchy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He’s shredded paper, hardly held together with cheap dollar store tape. He’s bound to fall apart.





	Tape

**Author's Note:**

> this fic talks about past sexual abuse so be careful, loves

...

The show goes well, as it usually does, Rick would expect no less. He and Squanchy play this bar every Thursday night, it’s extra money in his wallet and he usually found a good lay, much to Squanchy’s displeasure. Not that he gave two shits about what Squanchy thinks. He saunters off stage and towards the bar, eager to feel the burn of alcohol down his throat again, the buzz of it heating his veins and clearing his mind.

“Yo, the usual!” Rick calls to the bar tender, a tall bearded man named Ron who knew Rick a little too well. They hooked up once and it was probably the worst sex Rick had had in five years.

Rick plops himself down on a stool, mouth watering as Ron pours him a vodka on the rocks. He greedily takes the offered cup, swallowing a hefty swig. The bar is crowded, Squanchy mingling with a few pretty girls by the stage, most of them familiar faces, the echo of their voices and the beat of the next band on stage thrumming through the soles of Rick’s leather boats. He takes in his surroundings, growing increasingly disappointed with the turn out for the night, he knew most of them, gone home with a few of them more than once and he wasn’t too keen on taking another ride. Begrudgingly he thinks he might have to go home with Ron a second time, he’d like to say he could go a Thursday without fucking and forgetting, but he’d be wrong. Ron had a good dick, he just didn’t exactly know how to use it. Not to mention he had terrible taste in music.

“Would it bother you if I sat here?”

Rick looks up from his vodka, meeting a pair of deep set cocoa eyes, a wild grin splitting across his face. The guy didn’t exactly fit into the punk rock bar scene, dressed up in a thick red sweater, button down shirt, and slacks, he looked a little too scholarly, awkward despite the fact that he seemed so sure of himself in his misplaced surroundings. Rick is thoroughly intrigued, wants to pull the man’s ebony locks from their tight pony tail and run his fingers through them, wants to bite and lick his rich brown skin. He’s a little on the chubby side, but none the less attractive, and Rick always liked a little extra love to hold on to.

Judging by the way the man takes him in, eyes traveling over Rick’s body, his tongue darting out to trace his chapped lips as he devours the sight of Rick in his tight pleather pants and short black crop top, Rick knows in the least he finds him attractive too—not that Rick had reason to doubt his own sexual appeal.

He downs the rest of his vodka, batting his lashes and patting the stool next to him, “Hey~ you don’t even have to ask big f-fella.”

Ron coughs in disgust at Rick’s display, wordlessly refilling Rick’s cup.

“Do you write your own lyrics?” The man asks as he sits down, his voice a little too monotone for Rick’s liking. If he’d taught class at Rick’s high school, Rick would’ve lost interest mid sentence. But none of that matters now because Rick dropped out of high school at fifteen—he was too smart for that bullshit—and in this moment he’s high off the thrill of the hunt. All be damned, he’s ending tonight getting thoroughly fucked by this guy.

“Y-yeah, baby, you fucking impressed?” Rick purrs, sultry and low, hardly audible over the hum of the music so the man has to lean close to capture each word.

“It was a good set.”

Rick laughs, clicking his tongue ring against the roof of his mouth, “T-thanks, I’m Rick.”

“Those who are my friends call me, Pers.”

“Pers it is,” Rick says, “Haven’t seen you in here before, you new to t-town?”

“I relocated here a week ago; the prospect of a new job was something I could not refuse.”

“A new job sounds fucking great,” Rick sighs, because dropping fries in a fryer and flipping burgers as a living wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. But he needed to pay rent and couldn’t exactly afford to test for his GED, he knew he was smart enough to be working his ass off at fucking NASA but no high school or college diploma left little work opportunities in front of him. He’s doomed to a live a fast food cooking life, not that he planned to live pass forty anyway. “What k-kinda gig?”

“I teach Native American history at the local university.”

A fucking teacher, Rick couldn’t have guessed better. He lets out guffaw at his foresight, leaving Pers slightly puzzled looking. “No shit! H-history’s great man, really eat that shit up. Gotta fucking learn from the past, am I right?”

“The past can teach us valuable lessons.”

It’s too perfect of an opportunity to pass up and Rick bites at it, hook, line and sinker. He presses a flat palm against Pers’ chest, feels the heat of his skin seep through the fabric of his thick soft sweater and leans in close, his words a ghost of a whisper against Pers’ lips. Pers huffs lightly, breath hot and damp against Rick’s cheek and Rick knows he’s close to victory when a flush bleeds across Pers’ high cheek bones.

“Y-you wanna teach me a lesson, big guy?”

…

Squanchy sees Rick pushing through the crowd, cutting past people like a knife. His face sheens bright, pink and dewy and Squanchy knows Rick has set his sight on his latest kill. He lets out a resigned sigh because it was the same thing with Rick every week, and for such a smart person he never learned. He’d find a guy to fool around with him for a night, a few night sometimes, and then complain and drink excessively—not that he didn’t do that already—when they didn’t call him back—even though Rick would insist he wasn’t remotely upset that they didn’t call him back. Although Squanchy found it hard to hold any of this against his friend, not after the shit he’d been through, his behavior was text book psychological, and Rick was just repeating the vicious cycle of it—and Rick would hate to hear his behavior registers as anything remotely predictable (he prided himself on being a rebel).

“Squanchy!!!” Rick calls, pulling his friend to his glitter covered chest and Squanchy mourns his lack of growth spurt. Rick loomed a full foot and a half over him.

Squanchy groans, Rick reeks of sweat and baby powder. “You better knock before you come home tonight because I’m bringing home this sweet piece of ass!”

Not that this was news to Squanchy, he’ll just sleeps in the van. They shared a shitty two room apartment on the shitty side of town, took turns sleeping on the couch or alternately the bed. It was a well enough arrangement usually and Squanchy liked being there for Rick, he worried about what would happen if Rick was left alone too long. Rick wasn’t exactly the most stable human being.

“God, just don’t bring home a fucking creep this time, Rick,” Squanchy warns, because Rick had had more than a few close calls, brought home men that were closer to his own father than he was probably willing to see. Rick could hold his own when it came to a bar fight, Squanchy had seen him win countless times with the mean flick of his fist, but when it came to one night stands gone wrong, he’d helped Rick nurse more than a few broken ribs and black eyes.

“Fuck off, Squanchy. Jesus Christ, this is guy is like educated ass. He’s a fucking teacher, c-can you believe that shit?”

“T-teachers can be pricks too, Rick,” Squanchy adds and Rick rolls his eyes, frowning.

“Nah, Squanch, n-not this guy, he’s like overly polite and shit. Like r-real fucking formal,” Rick laughs, pressing an all too wet kiss to Squanchy’s stubble covered cheek. “Can’t wait to see if he keeps that shit up while he’s pounding my ass. I bet it’s all a fucking façade, you know what I’m saying? Bet he’s into some real kinky shit!”

And maybe the worst part is he knows no matter how hard he tries to keep Rick out of trouble, Rick will dive into it, head first. It’s hopeless, but the best he can do is to be there, to help Rick glue himself back together, over and over again, no matter how many times he shatters, “Just be careful.”

Rick grins, “Yeah, of course, **Mom**. He’ll wear a fucking condom, alright!”

…

Rick whistles when he sees Pers’ car, grins like an idiot when Pers plays up the gentlemen, opening the passenger door for Rick to climb in. He drives them downtown to Rick’s little apartment, in his 2015 Buick. It’s nicer than the cars Rick usually rides in, certainly nicer than Squanchy’s van. Then again their van cost five hundred bucks on the side of the road; it wasn’t exactly a classy ride.

“Here we are,” Rick says when they round his apartment, a rundown building on a corner block, the bricks of it chipped and well worn.

Pers opens his door again and Rick allows it, feeling giddy as he leads Pers upstairs to his door, a rush of excitement and adrenaline surging through him as a hand comes to rest at the small of his back. He knows the routine of this well, is comfortable with the familiarity of it. Maybe he’s as bad as those married couples who only have planned out sex every other Saturday night, but he convinces himself a different lover every Thursday is impulsive behavior—not the least bit standard.

 He can’t get the door open quick enough, fingers fumbling with the keys as the lock clicks in place. He tugs Pers inside, cornering him back against the wall as soon as the door is shut behind them.

Pers is taller than him, only by a few inches but it’s nice, Rick thinks, to tilt his head a little. To have to lean up to meet someone’s lips, and when their lips meet, its electric, sending sparks of pleasure down Rick’s spine. He whines into it, over eager and desperate to feel, teeth clashing against teeth as he licks his way into Pers’ mouth. However his desperation is met with a careful hand, Pers’ framing his face with a gentleness Rick wasn’t often provided, his lips moving slower, taming the wild onslaught of Rick’s kiss. It wasn’t exactly a pace Rick is content with, far too soft and meaningful for a quick fuck.

“I’ve been a bad boy, T-teach,” Rick breathes, breaking their kiss, Pers looks dazed and it makes Rick immensely proud, “I’ve been a very bad student,” He purrs, sliding his lean fingers down Pers’ chest, flattening his palm over his breast to feel the rapid beat of his heart, “Maybe you should bend me over your knee and spank me with a ruler.”

“That kind of fraternizing with a student could get me dismissed for inappropriate behavior,” Pers says in all seriousness, and Rick groans, dumbfounded. Okay, so maybe Pers isn’t as kinky as he originally hoped, this is flying over his head. It’s baffling.

 “I-I’m having a beer, You want a beer?” Rick says, pulling away. It’s always easier when drunk. Everything was easier when drunk.

“We should avoid drinking until afterwards,” Pers says and Rick is truly offended.

“Why the hell would we wait to drink?” Maybe it was a mistake bringing home the buttoned up shirt type. They never knew how to party.

“One cannot properly consent under the strong influence of alcohol,” Pers says like it’s the most obvious thing on the planet. And Rick prickles with it, because the question of his consent had never really come into play before. He doesn’t want to broach the subject further, the near thought of it making his tongues dry and sweat stick to his skin. He consented. He always consented.

“Fine, I’ll get drunk after we fuck,” Rick relents, crossing his arms across his chest, “That float your fucking boat?” He however fails to mention that he’s already feeling the five cups of vodka he had before the show.

“Yes, that will suffice with me.”

“Where do you want me? Bed? C-couch? Up against the wall? I’m not very picky,” Rick pinches the bridge of his nose, because the guy is too much. If he wanted to keep things formal and clinical, Rick could play along with that for tonight. He’s not turning back now. Rick Sanchez wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. And he certainly wasn’t missing out on getting fucked tonight. It just might top his list in the worst sex he’s had since Ron.

“A bed would suit our needs well.”

“The bed i-it is!”

…

Rick keeps his phone on the bedside table, a pre written text just a click away ready to be sent to Squanchy in case things went sour.

…

Their little apartment didn’t exactly have a bedroom, Squanchy’s stained twin sized bed tucked away against the only wall with a window. The bed creaks beneath Pers’ weight and movement, the springs protesting his actions. Rick moans as Pers pays attention to his neck, sucking hard at Rick’s pulse point.

“F-fuck yeah, Pers, just like that,” Rick huffs, urging him on. Things were moving slowly for what Rick was usually used to, but he isn’t protesting or at least he is trying not to. Pers is just a little too quiet, Rick hadn’t heard him vocalize his pleasure once, just heard the catch in his breath as he ground his pant clad dick against Rick’s pleather clad one. The silence is deafening, leaves Rick’s mind too much space to wander and he doesn’t know what to make of it. Between the thoughts that drift through his skull and their heavy breathing, it engulfs him like flames, that familiar voice, the one he tries to keep hidden within the recess of his mind, locked up like a beast in an iron cage, the one that wakes him up at night, sweat dampened and shaking, comes rearing forward with angry teeth, crashing over him like a wave.

He’s drowning in it.

_‘Be a good boy for, Daddy.’_

Rick can practically feel ‘ _his’_ fingers in his hair, tastes the bitter alcohol on ‘ _his’_ tongue. That was new. Sure it happened sometimes while he flipped burgers or rewrote Wikipedia articles on black holes so they were even more inaccurate, when there wasn’t much to occupy is mine, it crept up on him, like a predator digging it’s sharp venomous talons into his skin. And it had been years since it’d happened while fucking, sure the first few months after he left home he’d scared countless guys off with his mid-sex breakdown, but the wound was still fresh then, and fucking had been like ripping off a scab over and over again. He’s healed now. And sex is supposed to scrub the feel of _‘him’_ from his skin, until is pink and raw.

His stomach lurches in his throat, bile rising up with it, but he swallows it down, pushing frustrated at Pers’ chest, “Listen dry humping like a bunch of teens is f-fun and all but I don’t exactly wanna cream my panties like I’m thirteen again.”

He blames Pers for this, for not moving fast enough to make him forget, for not talking him through it. He couldn’t blame himself—can’t blame himself for never rationally or healthily dealing with what happened. He had alcohol, drugs, and sex for that.

“I,” Pers starts, sliding his hand beneath the hem of Rick’s crop top. He looks for Rick’s permission before sliding it off and Rick nods with a sigh, allowing the garment to be slipped over his head. The whole situation was unnervingly unusual, the return of _‘his’_ voice, Pers awaiting Rick approval—Rick’s lovers didn’t do that, “have never done this sort of thing before.”

“What sex? Or a one night stand?” Rick laughs as Pers struggles out of his thick sweater, fat fingers working clumsily at the buttons of his shirt. Rick pushes Pers’ fingers away, quickly unsnapping the buttons with his long deft fingers. He needed to block out the voice, return to the usual. “I do it all the time. I-I got you back, dawg.”

“Both,” Pers says, although he doesn’t seem wary or embarrassed if anything he’s surprisingly confident, determined even, to see this through.

“No, shit!” Rick grins, “This is like that movie! The one with Steve  Carell! Y-you know the one I’m talking about, The Forty Year Old Virgin!”

“I am twenty nine,” Pers says, calmly.

A man a few words.

“So you ready to lose your V card to Rick fucking Sanchez!?”

…

“Are you certain you want this?” Pers asks, as he positioned at Rick’s entrance, and Rick knows without a doubt for the first time in his life if he said _‘No.’_ someone would tap out. He flushes foolishly, blames it on the temperature of the room, on the close proximity of another’s body. No one ever asked him and he isn’t the least bit warmed or reassured by the action of it, he’s terrified by it—horrified by what it means.

“As a f-fucking heart attack.”

…

Pers does finally release a noise as he presses into to Rick, quick short thrusts until his buried to the hilt, a small “Nghhh!” leaving his parted lips as Rick’s heat engulfs him. Rick marvels at the sound of it, releases his own noise of pleasure at being stretched. Pers was big, short in length and wide in girth, the dull ache of it was enough to make Rick’s head spin, the muscles of his stomach clenching with need.

“Fuck,” Rick groans, pillow beneath his back and legs thrown over one of Pers’ broad shoulders, “Don’t go easy on me, babe, I’m not glass I won’t fucking break.”

But by the strained look of Pers’ features, Rick knows this won’t last long, he’s struggling to hold it together now. He makes a hesitant twitch of his hips, mouthing at Rick’s calf, his thick brows deeply furrowed as sweat clings to his temple, drips down his nose onto Rick’s flat stomach.

“Pers, you gotta talk t-to me baby,” Because he’s sure he’ll go mad in this silence—there is too much room within it.

Pers’ big hand travels over Rick’s stomach, across his ribs, thumbing at the silver stud pierced through Rick’s left nipple. “You are—ah—beautiful.”

It isn’t exactly dirty talk, but Rick lets it slide, a dumb flush staining his cheeks. “Y-you’re already in my pants, you don’t need to flatter me big guy.”

“I am being honest, you are quiet appealing to the eye, I find myself—“ However Rick never gets to find out Pers’ following words, for they die on his tongue, his face scrunched up tightly in what looks to be tortuous pain. Pers cums too swiftly, it’s over before it really even started and Rick stares regretfully up at the ceiling, his dick still hard and leaking against his stomach. It certainly wasn’t the worst sex he’d ever had, certainly better than Ron, but he’s left craving more, hungry and eager to remedy the hollow feeling in his chest and the turbulent over active thoughts that bombard his skull.

“I am sorry,” Pers says slowly as he pulls out, peeling off his condom, looking puzzled as he searches for a place to discard it.

“Just throw it on the floor, I-I’ll get it later,” Rick murmurs, tossing an arm across his eyes. The bed gives an angry groan as Pers shifts his weight from Rick, his bare feet patting across the floor in what Rick assumed was the search for a garbage can. The asshole didn’t listen.

Rick takes himself in hand, stroking with great ferocity, desperate to feel the light headed rush that comes with climax, a large hand around his wrist stills him. He peers through the shade of his arm and half lidded lashes, glaring as Pers weight settles back at his side.

“I am at least familiar with bringing oneself pleasure, if you would allow me to offer you a hand?”

“Knock yourself out,” Rick says, letting Pers’ larger hand replace his own, a quiver working its way down his spine and to the very tip of his toes. He’s breathless as Pers lays back at his side, hand never faltering in its motions as he nips at Rick’s shoulder, tracing along the lines of his clavicle to Rick’s angled jaw.

The room is all too quiet again, only the soft frantic sounds of his own breath filling the space. He’s used to dirty talk, an onslaught of words and delicious insults, his lovers never afraid to be vocal. And the void that Pers’ silence leaves him with is crushingly suffocating. Fear grips hard and brutal at his lungs and frenzied he captures Pers’ lips, searching to quell the sharp edges of it.

_What the hell is wrong with him tonight?_

He cums a short while later, crying against Pers’ lips as he paints Pers’ hand and his chest. At least Pers knew how to jack someone off, clever in the use of his hand. He floats down from the after math of it, weightless as Pers’ draws him against his chest, stroking long even lines down Rick’s back until his breathing evens out. It’s a new feeling, being held as he comes down from the high of it, terrifying in its intimacy, but Rick is too tired to care, curling up against Pers’ hairy chest.

“I would like to exchange numbers with you.”

The words take a moment to register through the heavy fog hazing Rick’s mind, “W-wait, what?”

“I said I would like—“

Rick lifts himself from the welcoming warmth of Pers’ chest, brow furrowed, “I fucking heard you the first time.”

“Then you do not want to exchange numbers?”

Rick shakes his head, “I-I didn’t say that. But i-if we fuck again, Pers, y-you gotta talk to me. You gotta engage me while you’re pounding my ass. And you h-have to last more than thirty fucking seconds.”

“Pers can oblige.”

“Holy shit, did you just talk in the third person?!  Never mind, you know what,” Rick huffs, collapsing face first into his pillow, the stale smell of sweat and sex clouding his senses. Squanchy really needed to drive them to the laundry mat soon, it’d been a good five weeks since the washed these sheets, “Fuck it, yeah we can exchange numbers. And I’ll fucking educate you, babe. I’ll be the teacher here, teach you how to properly fill my ass.”

“I’d be grateful for your education, Rick Sanchez.”

…

Maybe he’s not thinking clearly—okay, he most certainly is not thinking clearly. But Pers is different than all his other lovers, unusual, silent, and stoic and Rick wants to solve him like an equation—yearns to discover what makes Pers’ tick like he yearns to discover the galaxy. Is quizzical to know what it was about Pers that set him off tonight. It’s curiosity, he knows with great assurance, that lures him to give Pers his number.

…

Pers spends the night, an unusual act for Rick, even those who asked for his number usually fucked and left. He holds Rick close, like he actually matters, like he’s a precious porcelain vase and Rick isn’t sure what to make of it. Pers sleeps heavy, a bear in hibernation, wide arm thrown across Rick’s thin torso. Rick pulls the covers over them, fighting the urge to question just what the fuck he’s currently doing. Rick Sanchez didn’t cuddle.

…

_At fifteen, Rick was a lot less sure of himself, a lot more afraid, not yet grown into his long awkward limbs. He had a lot to be afraid of, a lot to be unsure of._

_He’d always remember the night vividly, a cold October, the whisper of winter carried on the night’s chilly wind. The stars blinked briefly behind gray clouds, the big clock in town square read three twenty three in the morning, he remembered watching the hands move, felt the sound of them click through his chest, like a finger on the trigger of a gun. He ran as fast as his burning legs would carry him, until he reached the edges of Squanchy’s neighborhood, his stomach lurching in protest at his effort—or maybe just the nerves of the situation._

_He lost the contents of his dinner on the cracked sidewalk, tasting bile and his Mom’s over cooked lasagna for the second time that night._

_He climbed the garage to Squanchy’s parent’s house, punching angrily at Squanchy’s window three times. It hurt his knuckles, yet again, everything hurt. Every inch of his being scream out in pain—soreness—a violent throb on the left side of his skull. His mind reeled, ready to explode._

_“Dude, what the hell?” Squanchy whispered, pulling the window and screen wide open in one quick motion, “You’re going to wake my parents.”_

_Rick shimmied in like a cat, ignoring the way Squanchy’s eyes widened at his bruised face and the stuffed backpack slung over his shoulders._

_“We have to get the hell out of here,” It was wrong to ask of Squanchy, selfish even maybe, because Squanchy had a good family, a good home, but he was young and terrified. He didn’t want to do this alone._

_“You have to go to the police, Rick.”_

_His nails dug crescent moons into his palms, “The police won’t do shit, Squanchy. My mom didn’t do shit.”_

_“You told her?” Squanchy asked carefully, urging Rick off his position perched on the windowsill. Rick goes willingly to the bed, collapsing back against it, still struggling to catch his breath._

_“Y-yeah, and that fucking blew up in my face. She didn’t believe me, she fucking defended him Squanchy—said I was making this shit up. And low and behold because she can’t keep her mouth shut she fucking told my Dad I talked and no fucking shit my old man was pissed I spilled the beans.”_

_“Rick—“ Squanchy started, concern or pity clearly written across his features, Rick didn’t care either way, he was desperate—frantic. Home life was safe for Squanchy, Rick didn’t have that luxury._

_He buried his face in Squanchy’s quilt, could remember the soft comforting smell of lavender fabric softener and the bittersweet tang of marijuana. He pulled absently at a loose threaded, watching it slowly unravel. He was slowly unraveling._

_“I can’t do it anymore, S-Squanchy. I c-can’t hold it together anymore, if he touches me one more fucking time I’ll lose it. I’ll fucking lose my mind. I’m afraid of what I’ll do, I’m afraid I’ll fucking kill him—I’m afraid I’ll fucking kill myself.”_

_He can practically hear Squanchy’s internal struggle, hear the gears of his mind turn and click and groan as they recalibrated. And Rick tries not to flinch when he feels a hand rest carefully on his shoulder, “Just let me pack a bag, okay?”_

…

It was five years later until he heard from his mother again, Squanchy’s parents—whom he still kept in frequent contact with—no doubt leaking his new cell number, only with what they thought were the best intentions. They kept their conversations brief and short, no more than ten minutes once a month, and Rick could count on one hand the number of times she mentioned his father. He hung up on her every time.

…

Rick wakes with a gasp, momentarily terrified by the weight pressing him into the mattress, calming only slightly when his minds connects the pieces of the puzzle, registers Pers’ face as a completely unhostile entity. He untangles their limbs, grabbing a pair of Squanchy’s discarded sweat pants from the floor, slipping his legs into them. They’re way too short and a little loose around the waist, but he’s too tired—too lazy—to go searching through his dresser for another pair.

He grabs a cold beer from the fridge, pops an off brand poptart in the toaster— maybe Rick wouldn’t have to grocery shop at the dollar store or eat once a day if he didn’t drink as much but none of that really mattered—and sits down on their well used couch, flicking Netflix on to watch an episode of Hoarders—it was easier to watch other people’s problems than deal with his own.

…

Pers is disoriented, back aching as he opens his eyes, the sound of the TV drifting over his ears. He rolls over, taking in his surroundings, the clothes strewn about the floor and the long lean body reclined against the couch. Heat works its way up his chest, paints his cheeks a vibrant red as he kicks off the bed sheets, finding his boxers amongst the messy ground.

“S-shit, man, sorry if I woke you,” Rick says, pausing whatever dramatic reality tv show he’d been watching, his blue hair a wild untamed mess, but he looks beautiful—a mess, but beautiful. His make up from the night before smudged beneath his wide and wild eyes, remnants of glitter dusting his cheek and his cleanly shaven chest.

“You know it-it’s fucking rude to stare,” Rick says without looking remotely offended.

Pers wants to worship him like a god, and as if the spirits are guiding him, he makes his way to Rick’s side, leaning down to press their lips together.

Rick blinks rapidly, tugging Pers down on top of him. Pers falls easily, balancing his hands on the arm rest as he hovers over Rick, his body casting shadows over Rick’s mischievous grin.

“What you ready for round two already?”

“I must decline, I have a class to get to by eleven.”

Rick looks mildly disappointed, Pers shares those feelings. It’s not that he didn’t want to. He more than wanted to. Was more than fascinated—intrigued—by Rick. There is something unhidden, unrestrained and monstrous in Rick’s clever green eyes and Pers was hooked the moment he saw them on stage. Like an addict, Pers mouth waters for more, skin itchy with his need for it—he couldn’t have just one taste. Rick is alluring and Pers yearns to melt into everything that he is. But sadly he had previous obligations and it would be unwise to lose a job he’d just gained.

“D-damn Pers, learn to live a little. B-break the rules some!”

“I can’t. But I will call you?” Pers says, pressing a kisses to the tip of Rick’s long pointed nose.

…

Rick isn’t expecting him to call, especially not later that night, a little startled when his phone begins to vibrate loudly in his pocket. Squanchy shoots him a glare, looking up from his game of Mortal Kombat.

“You gonna fucking answer that?”

Rick takes a drag from his cigarette, acrid tobacco filling his lungs, he breathes out slow, grey tendrils of smoking swallowing Squanchy whole.  He pulls his phone from his pocket, grinning like a fool when he sees the number.

“Holy shit! It’s the guy from last night!”

“The overly polite virgin?” Squanchy asks, mildly interested, interested enough to pause his game, “Are you actually gonna answer it? Because I’m sure as hell not sleeping in the van again tonight.”

Honestly, how could he not. He swipes with his thumb to accept the call, holding it too his gauged ear with a grin, “R-rick here.”

“Rick, it is Pers.”

Rick rolls his eyes at Squanchy, snuffing his cigarette out on the coffee table, “No shit, I recognized your number.”

“I was calling to see if you liked to go out tomorrow.”

Rick laughs, deep in his chest because usually they asked to stay in.

“W-what like a fucking date?” He say, only half joking.

“Yes,” Pers says, voice solid and sure as it buzzes through the speaker and Rick’s heart skips a beat, races hard against the cage of his ribs. He ignores the persistent pounding of it. Rick Sanchez didn’t go on dates—couldn’t remember the last time he actually went on a date. He wasn’t exactly the romantic type, or the type people wanted to be romantic with.

 _‘He wants to go on date,’_ Rick mouths to Squanchy.

Squanchy’s freckled face splits into a crooked toothed grin, “Say, yes.”

He prided himself on having a no care attitude, on living freely as he wished. And fuck it all, maybe it’d end with some free food or drinks; Rick was never one to turn down free food or drinks.

“I get out of work at three tomorrow, pick me up afterwards?”

He tells himself the only reason he agrees is the possibility of sex and a full stomach. It couldn’t remotely have anything to do with the fact that Pers was a fascinating person and he wanted to see him again.

…

A knock sounds on the door and Squanchy pauses Stranger Things, his wrist watch reading four fifteen. The fabled date is here, and just ten minutes late. Squanchy wonders how badly Rick is worried.

“That’s him! Get the fucking door Squanchy!”

Rick calls as he carefully applies eyeliner in their cracked bathroom mirror, preening and fretting over his appearance. Never one to deny Rick, Squanchy obliges, knowing without a doubt that he’s probably a total enabler. He’s eager to meet the man Rick was willing to go on a date with; curious to see what about him held such allure. He’s severely disappointed when he opens the door, greeted only with a man that could be described as extremely average, with his thin lips and turtle neck sweater Squanchy found him impressively boring. At least on a first impression basis, maybe there was some grand thing about him Rick wasn’t saying, because Squanchy was just waiting to hear it. He didn’t even have any piercings—any visible one’s at least—and Rick **_loved_** guys with piercings.

To put it kindly, he isn’t exactly Rick’s type, although Rick’s type could be defined under a two word category: complete assholes.

“I do not believe we have met, is Rick home?” Pers says and okay, this guy is way too polite and formal to be even remotely interesting. But maybe Rick needed that, maybe it’ll balance out all his sharp edges, he’d seen Rick go for the wild and crazy types too often they always led to volatile matches—simple bad chemistry.

“It’s Squanchy, and Rick is in the bathroom getting pretty for you.”

“S-shut the fuck up, Squanchy!”

Rick shouts and the man seems completely unphased by it.

“My friends call me, Pers.”

“Cool nickname, bro,” Squanchy says, not really meaning it. “You can wait on the couch while primadonna finishes getting ready.”

…

“W-what’dya think?” Rick asks, winking at Pers as he emerges from the bathroom, decked out in his favorite platform boots and black hoodie, he’d spent way too long on his make-up then he’d like to admit.

“I have already told you, but I will say it again, your physical appearance is immensely pleasing to the eye.”

“Oh my god,” Squanchy says and Rick laughs.

“You ready to go, babe?” Rick says, shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Yes, if we do not leave soon we will miss the movie.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Squanchy hisses as Rick weaves his way around the clutter on the floor and towards the waiting door.

“Oh, baby, I’ll do lots of things you wouldn’t do~”

…

Finding Dory wasn’t exactly Rick’s idea of a date movie, not that he had remotely any idea of what a date movie consisted of, but he would’ve preferred something in the action or horror genre. He didn’t hold anything particular against Disney, it just really wasn’t his cup of tea.

“I didn’t know what you’d like to see,” Pers says as they enter the theater, finding a seat by the front. It’s empty except the two of them, which Rick likes perfectly fine and Pers bought him a large soda and pop corn so he really couldn’t complain either way—the situation situated him fine—considering with the tickets and the snack this date is costing a pretty damn fine penny.

Rick hasn’t been to the movie theater in years, and the seats have improved at least. He grins when Pers reaches around him, showing Rick how to recline his seat and bring the leg rest up, fucking fancy. The lights lower as the movie starts, the images on the screen light up their skin, dying them gold, silver, white and blue. The surround sound pulsing through Rick’s veins like the course of electricity. He tries his best to pay attention to the movie, he really does, but he can’t help but let his mind wander, thinking of how he really wished he brought some rum to poor into his coke.

Twenty minutes into the movie—not that Rick had been counting or anything—he feels a pressure settle over his hand, thick fingers intertwining with his own. This really can’t be happening; he really can’t be attempting to hold his hand on the first date. But it’s happening and Rick isn’t quite sure how to handle it. It’s an odd concept for Rick, because he normally knew how to handle everything or at least he acted like he did.

He doesn’t like how it makes his heart skip a beat, how his chest feels warm and weighty. It’s stupid, he’s acting stupid, he was smarter than this—he didn’t get butterflies like a love sick school girl. He needed to steer this boat back into charted territory quick.

He carefully untangles his fingers from Pers’, lifting the arm rest to inch his hand up Pers’ inner thigh. Pers’ sharp intake of breath barely audible over the movies roaring volume. He shoots a glance behind them, checking to make sure the theater is still empty before moving forward with his actions, the last thing he wants is public indecency added to his record.

“You ever think about getting head in a movie theater?”

…

Sex is familiar, maybe not necessarily safe, but Rick always found some sort of relative safety or comfort in it. It’s like an addictive pill, quick relief, left him feeling high and light headed. But it’s a temporary solution, and he’s always left craving to find his next fix.

The theater floor is hard and sticky beneath his knees, Pers’ dick heavy on his tongue, but it’s worth it, to feel the charge of the act, Pers’ fingers threaded through his hair urging him on. He didn’t know how to handle hand holding and nose kisses, but he can handle this.

…

The third time they go out together Rick truly begins to question the train of his own thoughts, the level at which he can judge and trust his own emotions. His heart falters, jumps, his throat dry as he tries to swallow. Pers’ voice lifts in song, rising and falling in time with the lyrics. It’s beautiful, the tune he carries, the way it reaches and envelopes Rick like smoke. Rick is enthralled, Pers’ tongue caresses each word, the cords of his throat tighten with each vocal. Every word is vibrantly saturated, thick bright brush strokes painted before Rick’s eyes, swirling colors pulsating with the scream of the electric guitar, Rick sees them  vividly leave Pers’ parted lips, cascade and tumble , drift softly through the air like a feather.

They harden as they pierce Rick’s skin, rain down on him like arrows, settle painfully in the curve of his breast. He wants to die this way, lulled to blissful sleep by the sweet sound of Pers’ voice, it cradles him, offers him a security not even his mother’s arms had once provided.

He doesn’t realize Pers’ is asking him a question until the radio comes to a sudden halt, Rick’s breath and heart with it.

Rick struggles to regain his surrounding, Pers’ eyes intense as they study him. The trees and houses flash by too quickly in the car window, watercolored blurs of colors, reminding Rick of just how drawn in—blindly captivated—he was by Pers. He closes his eyes, focusing instead on the low hum of tires on pavement, telling himself it had nothing to do with Pers, he wasn’t emotional attached to him as a person. It was just a good song choice, good lyrics—you couldn’t go wrong with Pink Floyd.

“W-what were you saying?”

“I asked if you are feeling well. Your face was red. If you were not feeling well I can return you home. If it’s a headache there is ibuprofen in the glove box.”

Rick shakes his head, letting out a breath he’s been holding in for far too long, “No, I’m fine.”

“You are sure?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Well, if you’re a certain,” Pers says and Rick makes a show of rolling his eyes.

“ I’m fucking positive,” Rick says, more to himself than Pers, because he’d never felt more uncertain about something in his life, “You have a stellar singing voice.”

Pers quirks a rare smile, his wide fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “Thank you.”

Rick offers a smile in return, “You should join me and Squanchy on stage sometime.”

…

For six weeks it went on, the longest time a guy had stuck around in his life—longest time a guy has wanted him for something besides sex, sure they fooled around—and thankfully Pers had become a little more vocal—but Pers liked listening to him complain about his job at McDonalds just as much, loved listening to Rick rant about his theories on space travel and the latest science documentary he’d watched on Netflix and why it was completely and scientifically wrong. Pers likes kissing him goodbye and holding his hand. And maybe the thing that terrifies Rick the most is that he likes it—although he’d never admit the words aloud. He likes someone wanting him intellectually and emotionally and he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s fond of the notion or craving the attention.

…

“I have a rather pressing question to ask,” Pers says, his voice rumbling through his chest, tickling Rick’s cheek. There at Pers’ apartment, a swanky place Rick thinks, with rich leather furniture and shiny wooden floors—not a water stain to be seen—curled up on the couch while an episode of Pawn Stars plays in the background, it’s boring and annoying Rick thinks, but Pers is fond of anything history related.

“Y-yeah, shoot,” Rick says, balancing on his elbows to get a better view of him, but Pers face remained blank as it often did and Rick is left frustrated by his lack of readable emotion.

“We have been seeing each other for over a month now,” Pers starts and Rick frowns, anxiety settling in. He has suspicion where this is heading, and he isn’t fond of it.

“And?”

“I thought that it was time to make it official.”

Blood rushed to Rick ears, thrumming loudly over the sound of the TV, he chokes on his spit, quickly placing as much space between them as he can. Pers looks worried.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“Yes—“

Relationships were for idiots. Commitment was for idiots—though he’d only slept with two other guys since his first night with Pers, but that wasn’t the point—weren’t they? He loathes that he even doubts it for a moment, how even the consideration of it filters through his mind. Rick Sanchez didn’t fucking commit, he wasn’t the white picket fence kinda guy, with a dog on a leash and a spouse on his arm.

_‘You’ve basically been dating him for the last few weeks, what’s more is the title?’_

He shakes his head, struggling to draw in a full breath, lungs empty and aching. The room begins to spin, the clean white walls feeling all too tight, pulsing with the beat of his heart, closing in on him. Everything feels too small—he’s too small.

He needs to get out of here quick, needs to end this before he’s in too deep.

 _‘You’re already in too deep. You’re at the bottom of the fucking ocean,’_ He thinks and forces it away.

“You know I-I have to go,” It was a long walk from Pers’ place to Squanchy’s, but his body urged him to bolt, he’d deal with the two hour long jog in the rain, because a little water and exercise didn’t scare him, Pers and the word boyfriend however did. He had a classic case of fight or flight, and right now his mind screamed flight.

“Rick,” Pers hand on his shoulder stills him as he makes move to rise and his eyes flirt across the room for an exit, an excuse. He’s a cornered animal, “I’m sorry if I brought any pressure down upon you.”

“It’s fucking fine,” But it wasn’t, and he’s eyeing the apartment door like it’s the gate to heaven, questioning whether Pers would chase after him if he made a run for it. Not that he’d ever catch him, he’s a pretty good sprinter.

“However I strongly believe it was not, I thought perhaps you were ready but appears I was wrong, I am sorry. Rick, I want to keep seeing you. We don’t have to give a name to what we are until you are ready—never if that’s how long it takes. I want you to feel comfortable. It is important that you feel comfortable and if at any moment you don’t, I need you to tell me.” It’s the most words Rick has heard Pers speak in one sentence and if he feel emotionally threated and his feet like lead he’d be impressed

Rick swallows hard, legs feeling too weak to hold up his tall frame, he collapses on the couch, unwilling to meet Pers’ eyes. No one ever showed this amount of earnest concern for him—Squanchy maybe, but Squanchy had that built in familial connection he’d never once felt with his mother or father. He clenches his jaw, picks at the peeling black nail polish on his fingers, taps his feet to an angry rhythm on the floor, anything to keep his mind off of Pers words. They clench around his chest like a vise, barbed wire between his ribs. And if it’s been forced out of him at knife point he wheezes the words low and frantic, “I-I’ve never done this before.”

He can practically hear Pers’ smile, leg stilling in its nervous motions as Pers’ places a gentle hand over his knee, Rick loathes that he finds reassurance in its warmth.

“Then I will teach you.”

…

“I can’t believe after all these years that asshole calls! Fuck it! Fuck him! And fuck my bitch of a mother for giving him my number!”

Rick’s voice booms from behind the closed door and Pers hand freezes, poised ready to knock.

“He can’t get to you now Rick,” He hears Squanchy’s voice follow, low and in a form of comfort. Rick huffs in return and something shatters within the small confines of Rick’s apartment, most likely a vodka bottle knowing Rick’s fondness of liquor. Rationally he knows perhaps Rick would prefer him to leave, not to see him in a time of vulnerability—for Rick often kept him emotions under wrap—but his concern wins out.

Pers wraps his knuckles against Rick’s wooden apartment door three times, stands in attention as a hush follows. There is a shuffling of feet, the click of a lock and then the door is swinging open, Rick’s mouth a thin line as he answers, he smiles though as he sees Pers, but something simmers beneath the depths of his green eyes, barely contained like roaring fire.

“I came to wish you a happy birthday,” Pers says softly, admiring the way Rick’s lean body rests against the door frame.

“Yeah? You and a lot of other fuckers,” Rick groans, but shifts to full height, pressing his lips against Pers’ in a quick kiss, tongue flicking out to briefly trace his lips. Pers sighs against him, hand resting at the small of Rick’s back like it belonged there, “B-but it’s good to see you, babe.”

“May I come in?”

Rick rolls his eyes at the familiarity, Pers knows what he’s thinking, knows Rick’s thoughts lie somewhere along the lines of, _‘We’ve been fucking for three months do you really need to ask?’_ but Rick doesn’t voice this, he merely shrugs his shoulders in relent, motioning with his long elegant fingers for Pers to enter.

He follows Rick into the little two room apartment, stained ceiling, peeling wallpaper and all. Squanchy sits  on the shredded couch, features pinched in worry.

“Hello Squanchy,” Pers greets. Squanchy waves in response, joint poised between his lips, looking ready to shake out of his tanned skin. Rick appears similar, nails ready to peel his skin from his flesh, but he hides it behind the veil of a smile, draping his arms over Pers’ broad shoulders.

“You b-bring me a present, babe? Or are you my present?” Rick purrs, wild eyed, as wild as the untammed spikes of his artificially dyed baby blue hair.

Pers hums deep at the back of his throat, running what he hopes is a comforting hand down Rick’s thin arms. “I thought we could go out for dinner.”

“Oh~ y-you gonna take me somewhere nice? On the good side of town?” Rick nearly sneers, shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, “No McDonalds tonight, bitches!” He hollers.

“You deserve the nice side of town, Rick,” Pers murmurs, earnestly meaning every word of it. He yearned to ask Rick to move in with him, but knew it was too soon and too big a step for Rick. He’s like a cornered cat now, ready to flee at Pers’ words, as panic stricken as he looked when Pers asked him to make it official.

“Y-yeah, no shit? You f-fucking deserve the best blow job of your life for that, babe,” Rick grins, waggling his brow and flicking his tongue ring against his teeth.

Squanchy coughs from behind them, clearing his throat as he breathes a cloud of smoke in their direction, “You two are disgusting.”

“You want disgusting?” Rick laughs, “J-join us in bed for a night, mother fucker!” He shimmies up against Pers, pressing their bodies flush together. Pers feels heat bloom in his cheeks and chest, guilt along with it. Whatever had passed before he entered the room, Rick is doing a fine job of hiding, but he’s shredded paper, hardly held together with cheap dollar store tape. He’s bound to fall apart.

“I’ll pass,” Squanchy hisses, snuffing out his joint on the Goodwill coffee table.

Rick stretches, shoulders and back popping, t-shirt ridding up to reveal his pale flat stomach and the little trail of black hair that disappeared beneath the elastic waist of his joggers, “Well, this bitch is gonna shower before we head, you sluts don’t have too much fun without me.”

Rick winks before sauntering off to his closet sized restroom. Pers stomach drops watching him go.

…

“Don’t you dare take advantage of him right now,” Squanchy says, after the shower roars to life and he’s sure Rick can’t hear them over the weight of the water. He scratches absently at his goatee.

“I don’t understand—“ Pers starts and Squanchy cuts him off. Squanchy couldn’t be positive of Rick’s or Pers’ intentions, but he knew two things: First Pers had stuck around longer than any man who caught Rick’s fleeting attention. And second, that when suffering Rick sought solace in alcoholic coma and sexual validation. After nearly more than twelve years at Rick’s side, Squanchy felt a fierce need to protect his friend. Felt more like a parent or sibling to Rick ever since Rick showed up at his house, fifteen years old, left eye swollen shut and will broken. They fled their small town that night never looking back.

“Don’t say a fucking word to him about it, don’t even mention that I said it, but Rick’s vulnerable, he won’t say it and he won’t show it but he’s breaking internally. He’s like a ticking fucking bomb right now.”

Pers comes to sit at his side, couching squeaking in protest beneath his weight, “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s not my story to tell and I don’t know if Rick will ever be ready to tell it, but all I’ll say is his Dad called today, for the first time since Rick left home. And Rick and his Dad aren’t exactly on solid ground. To put it kindly his Dad’s a total scumbag.”

…

If there is one thing Pers is certain about, he knows Rick shouldn’t be alone. He’d seen the fresh and old scars on Rick’s wrist, knew what happened when Rick was left to his own devices, seen them under the cuff of his hoodie or while he held Rick’s hand, he never commented on them, never brought Rick’s attention to his concern. But he fretted over what must be eating Rick internally, devouring him so wholly that he felt the need to try and cut it out. After Squanchy departs, bidding his goodbyes with a solemn smile, Pers knocks on Rick’s bathroom door waiting for a reply.

“Yeah?” Rick calls over the patter of the shower droplets.

“May I come in?”

Even though he can’t witness it, he can practically hear the roll of Rick’s eyes.

“Ah, l-looking for some pre-dinner sexy shower time, Pers!? You fox, get your ass in here.”

Hesitantly Pers, cracks open the bathroom door, lungs engulfed in hot humid air as he steps into the tiny room. It’s suffocating, the temperature, the dampness, knowing at which weight Rick carries his grief with him, all bottled up tightly inside his lanky body.

Rick peeks out from behind the shower curtain, eyes bloodshot and red rimmed. And Pers can tell if it’s from a pre-shower high or if he’d been shedding lonesome tears. There was the strong probability and possibility it was both. It’s hard to tell with Rick’s cheeks wet with water, “You coming in or not?”

…

Water clings to the fringed edges of Rick’s lashes, running rivulets down the contours of his throat and cheeks. He bites his lips as Pers undresses, each inch of dark skinned revealed to him. Sex was a way to forget just like boozing, a way to erase the messy smudged lines of his life he’d rather not remember. But it was never enough. It wasn’t a cure all.

He inches up against the shower wall as Pers steps into the stall, Per’s stomach brushing against his own. He feels a nauseous tug of his gut like he swallowed stones as his dick twitches in interest, because he can’t help but think of another stomach brushing his own. Can’t help but remember being smaller and more defenseless and not wanting it. But he’s not defenseless now. He wants it now, wants Pers now, or at least he tells himself this as he brings their lips together. He has to want it, he’s too afraid to admit he isn’t sure who or what he is without it. People needed him for sex. He knew his personality wasn’t winning, he knew his body was a way to draw people in—not that he needs people around to begin with, he’d be perfectly fine by himself. Squanchy had stuck around the longest and Rick never needed his body to win Squanchy’s attention or acceptance. But Squanchy was the exception.

“Rick,” Pers says softly, like the whisper of water against his skin.

“You know we haven’t had shower sex yet,” Rick starts, shivering as Pers presses wet kisses down the column of his throat.  But he thinks of _‘his’_ lips instead, of how hearing _‘his’_ voice an hour ago for the first time in eight years brings back the feel of them like they’re fresh and new, an open gaping wound. He ignores the fact that he’s bleeding out.

Pers’ thick fingers settle over his ribs, fanning out over the splay of them, like he’s holding Rick together, holding his bones and breath in. Rick’s lungs expand against his hold.

“I don’t think now is the time, Rick.”

Rick frowns, putting as much space between them as the little shower stall would allow, feeling the sharp sting of rejection. Oddly disappointed to find that Pers wasn’t even a little hard for him. Maybe he was already bored. They always got bored. Or fed up. Or overwhelmed with Rick’s antics, booze, and unstable tendencies. He’s surprised Pers made it three months, they usually only lasted three days—a week at the most. He loathes that his chest aches, empty and hollow at the thought of Pers leaving.

“It’s a good as time as ever,” Rick crosses his arms across his chest, having the audacity to feel personally offended. Yet relieved, because he wasn’t sure he was ready to do this, or anything after the dirt his father’s voice has swept up.

“It has come to my attention that you might not want it, Rick.”

The shower water was beginning to run cold and Rick feels the chill of it seep deep into his bones.

“I want it.”

Pers sighs, running a hand over Rick’s flat and tangled hair. Rick turns the faucet off, the pipes screeching as they die down.

“I’m well aware of the capacity of your want, but I am also aware that now is not a good time. I have reasons to believe you might not be aware of your current wants. Squanchy told me your father called.”

“Squanchy doesn’t know shit!” Rick growls, he’s angry now. At everything and everyone. Maybe at himself mostly. Or maybe at Squanchy for being a back stabbing piece of shit. Mostly at his father for having the nerve to call eight years later, for asking him what he’d want for his twenty third birthday like none of this had ever happened, like they’d just talked yesterday. He knew what his father truly wanted and his mother hadn’t saw it or seen it now. Disgusted and frustrated that after all these years he still struggled to tell his father ‘No’.

 He doesn’t wanna know what else Squanchy told him. Because Squanchy knew the whole story, knew everything when he helped Rick flee. Knew the monsters that lived inside Rick with their deep searing red eyes.  He knew everything that was driving Rick mad from the inside out.

“It’s okay to be vulnerable, Rick.”

“I’m not fucking vulnerable,” There was nothing Rick hated more than the feeling of vulnerability, it’s like the plague. An illness. The flu. He wasn’t weak—hated feeling weak—loathed the thought of someone assuming he was weak. Trembled lightly because hearing his father’s voice again made him feel weak.

He liked Pers enough because he usually didn’t ask questions, usually didn’t pry into Rick’s life or talk much. And Rick liked that. Appreciated that. _Respected_ that. But his current concern for Rick’s welfare was unsettling at best.

With shaky hands Rick reaches for a towel, Pers snatching it from his hands before he has a chance to dry himself. Pers rubs the well worn cloth down Rick’s back, over the sharp angels of his shoulders and knobby spine. It’s too intimate, and Rick feels truly naked not just in skin but in soul. He prided himself on being unreadable, but he knew Pers could read him like a book. And he despised that.

“Squanchy tell you what Dad did to me?”

“No, but there are unfortunate assumptions I can make. He also told me not to tell you of his concern.”

“You’d fucking hate me if you knew what he did to me,” and Rick doesn’t think he could live with that. Is stunned for the first time in his life that he actually cares what someone thinks of him.

“I couldn’t hate you, Rick…” Pers says gently, all monotone, cool and collected. And Rick wishes he could read Pers as well as Pers can read him. Pers turns him carefully, and Rick carefully avoids his eyes, staring at the patch of thick hair on Pers’ chest.  With large palms, Pers fames the narrow shape of Rick’s face, pressing a gentle kiss to Rick’s furrowed brow. This was defiantly too intimate. Too far bordering into romantic territory for Rick’s comfort. He hates the warmth that unfurls and weaves through his veins with it. Emotions and love were for the weak and foolish. For the stupid. And Rick Sanchez wasn’t stupid, “I care about you.”

It’s too much, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He pushes futilely at Pers’ chest, face burning red. “J-jesus, you’re a fucking pussy, Pers!”

Pers offers him a knowing grin.

…

The restaurant is too fancy for Rick’s taste, white table cloth, wooden floors, and linen napkins. He’s used to bar food after gigs, or McDonald’s after a long shift, sneaking it home even though the smell of french fries is so deep in his skin it makes him sick. He orders a burger because it’s the cheapest thing on the menu, and he doesn’t wanna feel indebted to Pers more than he already does. He’d been light headed ever since Pers turned him down in the shower, he wants to convince himself the water was too hot, that he’d stayed under its spray just a little too long. But it’s Pers that’s doing it, making him feel like he’d been in the sun for far too long. Pers was the first guy to understand that Rick’s consent might be dubious—even though Rick would rather admit it never was.

The burger is juicy and cooked perfectly when he bites into it, certainly better than McDonald’s. Pers watches him like a hawk while he eats, picking lightly at his mushroom risotto.

“W-what, you got a fucking problem?” Rick asks, a little offended, mouth full of food—which didn’t fit the class of the restaurant not that Rick really cared either way.

He swallows and Pers smiles, and Rick swears he sees a twinkle in his stupid brown eyes. It sends his weak pulse sky rocketing.  “I should feed you more often. You are too skinny, Rick.”

Rick’s cheeks bloom red, he wasn’t one to feel self conscious—doesn’t feel self conscious now—knows with great confidence that Pers (and other men) found his body sexually appealing, He’d mentally catalogued how many times Pers had told him, _‘You’re so beautiful’_ in some dumb poetic way while he’s pounding deep and hard into Rick or even over breakfast—which unsettled Rick the most. Forty seven times to date.

He takes a swig of his beer, “F-fuck off, Pers.”

…

“Hah,” Rick whimpers. He’d never enjoyed making out like a bunch of over eager teens than he did with Pers. Pers’ hands are everywhere, tracing down the lean line of Rick’s spine, dipping into the crevice of his ass. Pers’ tongue tracing his teeth, nibbling lightly at Rick’s lower lip before pressing slow gentle kisses at each corner of Rick’s mouth. It’s driving Rick mad, making his head spin, or maybe that was just the three beers he had with dinner—but he usually isn’t that much of a light weight.

“I should go,” Pers says carefully, as Rick grinds up against him, ankles hooked around Pers’ calves.

“W-what? We were just g-getting to the good shit,” Rick hisses, baffled. Pers never failed to baffle him.

Pers frowns, sitting up as he removes his weight from Rick. Rick mourns the loss of it, “I don’t want to take advantage of you tonight, Rick. You’ve had an emotional day.”

 _‘Emotional, my fucking ass,’_ Rick thinks, grinding his teeth. Pers acts like he knows him, acts like he can see deep into Rick, Rick wishes he didn’t, “I’m not an emotional indecisive bitch Pers, I know what I want and when I want it. And I c-currently want your dick _way_ up my ass.”

Pers sighs, petting Rick’s cheek fondly. It makes Rick frown.

“Not tonight, Rick. If you still are in the same mind set in the morning we can discuss it, but what you need now is rest.”

…

It’s odd falling asleep next to someone without a curtain of post coital bliss to cover him. Pers falls asleep first, in his wife beater and boxers, thick arm thrown over Rick’s chest as he snores against Rick’s shoulder. Rick curls up against him, threads his skinny legs through Pers’ chubby ones, buries his nose in the tuft of Pers chest hair, sniffling at the tickle of it.

He knows if he sleeps tonight it will be shoddy at best because he can’t get the image of his father’s face from his mind, the gruff gravel of his voice, the bitter tang of his alcoholic breath against his lips, and the scratch of his stubble on his throat. He closes his eyes and tries to focus of the steady rhythm of Pers’ heart beat.

…

He wakes to feel Pers morning wood pressed against his back, he groans, feeling as if he’d swallowed cotton balls.

“P-Pers,” He mumbles, eyes heavy lidded, protesting the bright sunlight filtering in through his dirty window. It illuminates specks of dust like snow, and Rick watches them flutter, frustrated. “Pers, wake the fuck up.”

“Rick,” Pers yawns groggily, wide hand settling over Rick’s stomach, sliding up the hem of his t-shirt, “Is there something of pressing concern.”

Rick sighs, wiggling back against Pers’ dick, earning a moan in response. “Y-yeah, of boner concern and its currently pressing up against my ass.”

“I’m sorry,” Pers starts.

Rick laughs, “Don’t be, it f-fucking happens.”

“You still wanna?” Rick asks, turning to face him and Pers is too serious, tucking a stray strand of Rick’s hair behind his pierced ear.

“Only if you feel ready and well enough to, Rick.”

It’s not the first time he’d ask Rick if he felt ready enough for it—he’d done it on their first night together, asked Rick if he was ready before every time he slipped his dick into Rick’s waiting heat. But it’s the first time Rick feels comfortable enough to say ‘No’, the first time he truly feels like saying no with Pers—knows himself well enough in this moment to voice it, is strikingly apparent of what he actually wants (and maybe he’s just too sober). He can’t deal with bearing the weight of another over him, in him. He’d never felt secure enough with someone to even broach the subject, to deny them—to deny himself. He’s aware now he’d regret it if he didn’t—and he doesn’t like the live with regrets.

“I— maybe not all the way, I don’t think I could—ah,” Rick coughs, studying the swirling cracks in his ceiling, how they wound and broke off like tree roots, “I don’t think I could stomach fucking right now. But I-I’m cool with jacking you off, I mean if that’s cool with you?”

 Pers looks more understanding than any person has looked in Rick’s entire life, pressing a kiss to Rick’s temple. It’s gentle enough to bring tears—fuck them—to Rick’s eyes. “Only if you want, Rick, it is not my intent for you to ever feel obligation or pressured.”

 Rick rolls his eyes for show, to hide the fact that he feels heavy, warm, and reassured. He feels safe and it’s alarming—he never feels safe. He doesn’t realize he gives voice to his feelings until Pers is chuckling softly, licking kisses at Rick’s clavicle as Rick’s fingers inch beneath the waist of his boxers, Pers’ dick springing free.

“I feel safe with you too, Rick Sanchez.”

Rick sputters, taking Pers in hand as Pers lets out a low pleased rumble deep within his chest. “God! J-jesus fucking Christ Pers, fuck off.” There comes that feeling of vulnerability he loathes so much, but I doesn’t feel as much of a burden with Pers.

He focuses on the movement of his hand, on the weight and heat and throb of Pers’ dick within his palm, spreads pre-cum over Pers’ slit with the pad of his thumb. They’re both breathing heavy now. Pers’ eyes shut tightly, his bottom lip between his straight teeth. And it hits Rick hard, knocks the wind from his lungs like a punch to the gut, the realization that this doesn’t feel like an obligation anymore—it’s not a job that he owes someone or himself. It’s not a medicine. Pers isn’t a medicine. He wants to do this because he cares (too adamant in his lack of feeling to even broach the subject of love)about Pers—cares about him a lot. It’s terrifying, scares Rick worse than the night when he first left home with Squanchy thirteen bucks and some odd change to his name and the day when Pers asked him to be his boyfriend. Caring about people meant emotions, and emotions meant getting hurt. And he didn’t think he could bear for Pers to hurt him—to leave him. It was crushing to depend on someone so strongly, he isn’t one to be dependent.

“Oh,” Rick says, stunned in the awakening of it. His hand stills in its movements.

Pers’ eyes shoot open quickly, concern replacing his pleasure laced features. He rests a big hand on Rick’s thin hip, thumb working worried circles on the exposed skin there. “Are you well?”

Rick shakes his head, winding his arms around Pers’ waist, hiding his face in the crook of Pers’ shoulder, “I’m fine.” He says slowly, but Pers doesn’t seem convinced so he repeats it again, feeling Pers’ chest expand against his own as he sighs. “I’m fine, really.”

And for the first time in a long while, he means it.

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
